


Hatchet

by Renne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: First Time, Jealousy, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renne/pseuds/Renne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur asks for help, there's a gay cruise ship and Eames wears stupidly tight pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hatchet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://futureperfect.livejournal.com/851320.html).

It's not their best researched job. In fact, if Arthur had to be honest, it was going to be a hatchet job, cobbled together from the festering remains of two or three previously excellent plans that would have worked perfectly individually and with the original team he'd put together. Of course, nothing can be expected to run smoothly when his extractor gets hit by a bus (of course he does), his architect suffers a nervous breakdown after his girlfriend dumps him for her hairdresser (there are only so many soggy tissues Arthur is willing to bin before he draws a line) and the mark spontaneously decides to leave the country for destination unknown(-for-now).

"Well," Eames sounds almost insufferably consolatory. "Aren't you up shit creek without a paddle?" Consolatory? Arthur meant _smug_.

"Thank you for that apt and disgusting description of my situation, Eames." Arthur stares up at the blue sky and sighs, knowing he is going to regret this as soon as the words come out of his mouth. "Feel like helping an old friend out?"

***

"Oh," Eames says. "Well. If you'd said straight out that the job was going to be on a gay cruise ship..."

***

"This is a terrible idea," Arthur moans, clutching the basin.

Eames sighs and drapes the cool, wet washcloth over the back of Arthur's neck. "How on Earth do you manage to travel everywhere in the world, Arthur, at least a hundred times over and not discover before now that you get seasick?"

***

It takes twelve hours and a regular application of seasickness tablets for Arthur to feel even remotely human again, and by this stage he's ready to throttle Eames or beat him to death with one of the bottles of champagne he keeps bringing back. On the other hand, Arthur also has a greater appreciation of just how comforting the man can be when one is feeling under the weather.

Eames slips back into their cabin. He looks nauseatingly upbeat as he heads straight to the complimentary fruit basket. He sets another bottle of champagne down with its sisters on the table. "Well?" Arthur demands.

"Well," Eames says, peeling a tangelo (it releases its tangy citrusy scent instantly and Arthur scents the air, his stomach rumbling for the first time since he set foot on this godforsaken ship). Eames pops a segment into his mouth, licking his fingers. "There's an excellent bar on the second deck that does piña colada's that are to _die_ for, we're going island hopping tomorrow, I'd avoid the shellfish – especially on a weak stomach, three guys have hit on me today already, and I'm taking you out for dinner tonight whether you want it or not." His mouth twitches at the death stare Arthur shoots him. "Oh, and the mark is staying one floor up. Right up there, actually," he says, pointing with a sticky finger.

Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but the moment he does Eames shoves two segments of the fruit into it. He'd complain, but it tastes really good. Eames' fingertip lingers on his lower lip a moment. Arthur flicks his tongue out against Eames' skin.

Okay, that's not what he meant to do.

***

"You're wearing that," Arthur says flatly. "In public. Eames, those pants are _stupidly_ tight."

Eames turns, admiring himself in the mirror. "'Course they are," he says delightedly. He runs one hand over his rump, eyes half-lidded and pleased in the reflection.

***

Wordlessly Eames passes Arthur a napkin. Every single piece of information the client requested is jotted on it in black pen, right down to the date and time of the delivery and all Eames had to do was give up a kiss or two and let the mark feel him up.

"It's nice to know you're not above whoring yourself out up here, too," Arthur says nastily.

***

Back in their cabin it's a different thing entirely. For the price they're paying for the room, they have a little bit of decking and Eames is outside leaning on the rail, staring out into the darkness. Arthur can hear the rush of water by the side of the ship and music and laughter from another deck.

Arthur paces back and forth inside. He should be pleased that Eames had managed to get the exact information they needed without having to hook up the PASIV device and he is, really. But at the same time he's bothered and he's not sure he likes what he's bothered by.

Its one thing for Eames to forge bait for a mark in a dream and Arthur's not stupid enough to think that it's all innocence. He knows how bad it can get for Eames down there with his forgeries and his games. Arthur's also not stupid enough to think Eames hasn't done this (and worse) before up here, either.

The difference this time is, it appears, that Arthur was actually around to see it.

***

"I don't know why it bothers you," Eames says from the doorway and slides the door closed behind him. He's still wearing those ridiculously tight pants. "It doesn't mean anything."

"With you it never does," Arthur says without thinking. As soon as the words have left his tongue he regrets them.

Eames takes two swift steps forward. There's something about the way he stands over Arthur (looming). Strong thighs in tight grey denim and Arthur can feel the body heat that rolls off Eames in waves. Arthur's not sure he's realised before how intimidating Eames can be with his physical size. "And what does that mean?" Eames demands.

"I don't know." Arthur looks away.

He's a liar. He does know.

He wants Eames. He's jealous. He's jealous and he wants Eames. Why do other men get to touch what Arthur can't have?

***

Eames reaches out and tips Arthur's face up with a finger under his chin.

***

Eames pushes into Arthur, slick and full and Arthur shudders, his face pressed against his arm. Eames' hand pins his wrists to the mattress above his head, the other hand curling behind his thigh, hitching him closer.

Eames kisses Arthur's throat, his jaw, his mouth. Arthur breathes out.

***

It's a hatchet job and it all works out in the end.


End file.
